Put Into Perspective
by Das War Schon Kaputt
Summary: Or: five people who disapprove of Kurt and Blaine's relationship and one who doesn't. Age-difference!Klaine (Kurt is 17, Blaine is 27)
1. i Cally Whytt

_**Adventures in cross-posting continue once more!**_

**Warnings** **for**: age difference (Kurt is 17, Blaine 27)

_This story is a pseudo-sequel to All That Has Become of Me -__** you do not need to have read that story to understand this one. All you need to know is that Kurt and Blaine are dating, Kurt is 17, Blaine is 27.**_

* * *

**Put Into Perspective**

_(Or: five people who disapprove of Kurt and Blaine's relationship, and one person who doesn't.)_

* * *

**_i. Cally Whytt_**

Cally moves to Lima during the summer between her junior and senior year of high school.

She's not happy about it.

It's not that McKinley High isn't a decent high school; from what she can tell, it's actually pretty good (compared to some of the schools she's seen) for academics and extracurriculars. It's not even the fact that she's going to be living with her scum-of-the earth father for the entirety of her senior year.

It's the fact that it's _Lima. _In Ohio.

Which – okay, she gets it – could be worse. It's supposed to be all cute and small-town-y – the type of place that Mom would have _loved_ – but Cally just thinks of sunny San Fran, of battered converse and sea breeze, and thinks that wherever she ended up was just going to _suck _by comparison.

It's with a somewhat sour attitude and a solid determination to hate every second of her time here that Cally walks up to the front office of McKinley High to report in for her first day. She glowers her way through the conversation with the nosey secretary, collects her timetable, turns and walks … _straight into another student._

At average height, with the most well-styled hair she has ever seen and the barest hint of muscle tone showing underneath what looks to be a veritable _armour _of clothes, this guy is pretty good looking. He's also ice cold in every meaning of the word, and outright _glares _at Cally as he moves to pick up his stuff – textbooks, a ream of fabric, _Vogue, _okay, stereotypes aside, this guy's probably gay.

Ignoring the chill of _brave _that sinks into her mind, Cally offers him a hand up, because, angry as she may be about Lima – _Lima _– she hasn't forgotten about basic human manners and interactions.

The other guy doesn't take her hand. In fact, he looks up only to give Cally the most disdainful look she has _ever_ experienced.

Fair enough. Figuring she's made her basic effort – good turn for the day _done _– Cally drops her hand and walks past him without so much as looking back.

As she leaves, however, she can't help but overhear the too-chipper-for-her-own-good secretary say, "Oh, Kurt, there you are. Shall we talk?"

* * *

Kurt doesn't have any classes with Cally except for healthy class, she soon learns. According to Zainab – the pretty Nigerian girl who offered her a pencil to sketch with in their shared art class – he's one of the band geeks, or something, and has a different timetable to her own art-oriented one. He and a bunch of other kids – the name Rachel Berry is mentioned, accompanied by a sneer – are in this singing and dancing club, or something, which – stereotypes once more aside – doesn't surprise Cally in the least.

"So is he popular or something?" Cally asks in between bites of her crummy homemade sandwich – it's just butter and bread; Dad forgot to go grocery shopping _again _– and Zainab looks at her like she's cracked.

"Hummel?" she asks, half-incredulous, half-amused. "What gave you that impression?"

"Well, you seemed to know who I was talking about when I said his name," Cally hedges. "And I don't know, he seems to be friends with a lot of cheerleaders," she shrugs. "I assumed."

Zainab shakes her head. "First, those cheerleaders – not his friends," she explains. "They didn't even know who he was until he won them nationals a couple of years back."

And, okay, that wasn't what she was expecting.

"And secondly," Zainab continues, "we don't talk about Kurt because he's popular. That's like saying fame's the same as infamy."

And now Cally just _has _to know. "Go on," she says.

"Hummel thought it would be a good idea to try and make history all by himself," Zainab says, then clarifies. "He's gay – _flaming_ and_ out_ and _proud._" She rolls her eyes. "Stupid is more like it," she mutters under her breath.

_That _sounds ominous. "Stupid?" Cally prompts.

Zainab shakes her head. "Yeah," she reiterates. "Stupid. Like he thought being gay in Ohio was going to be a picnic in the park, or something." She roughly shoves her lunch tray away from her and kicks back in her seat. "There was this whole _thing _last year with a jock who tried to kill him, or something, and there was all this talk about him transferring, but he just came right back at the end of the year."

"Right," Cally says, feeling a little sick.

Zainab just shrugs. "Stuff like that happens in Lima. No one gives a damn."

Cally drops the remainders of her butter sandwich and calculates how many days before she can escape this hellhole.

* * *

"So, about Kurt," Cally starts, painting a broad stroke of colour on her canvas.

"What about him?" Zainab asks, the paintbrush in her teeth making her words come out garbled and half-incoherent.

"Does he have a boyfriend?" she asks, out of idle _curiosity, _not because she's interested, because she's _not._

Sighing deeply, Zainab removes the paintbrush from her mouth and shakes her head sympathetically at Cally.

"What?" Cally demands.

Zainab just shakes her head again. "You're not the first, and knowing our gender, you probably won't be the last, but this isn't something you want to pursue."

"_Really _not what I was asking," Cally tells her quickly, but then her mind catches up with the response. "What do you mean, I'm not the first?"

"He had a fling with Brittany," Zainab explains, then frowns. "Must have been sophomore year. It was… well, you know Brittany."

"It _really _wasn't about that," Cally insists, storing the information away for later. "Just—people keep saying this shit about him, and I kind of have to wonder how much of it is true and how much of it is just shit people say—" Cally breaks off when she sees the look on Zainab's face. "What?"

"You really are new to Lima aren't you?" she muses, then straightens up. "To answer your question, yes, Kurt does have a boyfriend."

"Do you know his name?"

Zainab sighs, like she wishes she didn't. "Blaine Anderson."

* * *

It makes sense really – the real reason why no one can shut up about Kurt Hummel at McKinley High. It's nothing to do with his near offensive flamboyancy, or his – by the sounds of it at least – salacious past with several cheerleaders, or even the whole attempted murder – Cally's still not sure if this actually happened – and subsequent transfer rumours.

Because, well, murder is sexy, but there's nothing sexier than sex.

It's the talk of the town, apparently, and Cally is kind of lost as to how she managed to miss all this during the month she's already been in Lima.

Kurt Hummel: seventeen years old and dating a man ten years older than him. Kurt Hummel: gay and has the audacity to be open about it. Kurt Hummel: gay and has the _audacity _to_ act _onit_._

No, Cally really doesn't know how she missed it, because Blaine Anderson picks Kurt up from school at least twice a week – in a shiny silver BMW that is really difficult to miss in amongst the other rust-buckets lining the school parking lot – and has been seen dropping him off often enough that it's not uncommon. And every time the healthy class teacher – Morrigan? God, Cally doesn't even care – talks about their partners pressuring them into things they aren't ready for, he directs at least _half _of his entire speech at Kurt.

(And Kurt just sits there and takes it, impassive in a way that Cally could never be, but looks so _angry, _and _bitter_, and Cally actually finds it in her heart to pity him for five minutes, before Zainab's vitriol replays in her head, and unbidden and unwelcome, the thought comes: _you asked for it_.)

Cally really isn't sure how she feels about it all.

She isn't _disapproving, _sure, but she doesn't exactly _condone _it, either.

Blaine Anderson is hot – there's no denying that – but he seems… Well, dangerous would be a bit far, but fake, maybe, too polished and insincere. He oozes power too, and that doesn't seem to bode well.

Kurt is, however, not hot. Sure, he's elegant, maybe, and most certainly attractive in a higher-elfin-beauty kind of way, but he lacks the confidence about him to be _hot. _Insecure, Cally would guess, and looking at the clothes he wears – layers upon layers, like chainmail and a tunic – Cally thinks he's trying to build something out of himself, something that maybe he's not ready for.

Then there's the money.

Blaine Anderson isn't just painfully sexy – there's something about a man in a suit, Mom once said, and suits are to women what lingerie is to men – but he's also rich as hell. And, if the fact that Kurt is dressed head-to-toe in designer clothes day-in day-out is any indication, he's not afraid to throw that money around. He drives a BMW, for God's sake – that is not the car of someone trying to hide their wealth.

Kurt is – well, his father is a mechanic, and his brother – step-brother, Finn Hudson, he's on the football squad – dresses in worn down jeans and patchy hoodies, so, no, he's not made of money.

And then there's the age-gap.

Because Blaine Anderson isn't just rich and gorgeous; he's also older than Kurt by at _least _ten years. That's enough to push him out of the territory of _boy _– a territory Kurt still inhabits, regardless of the age of consent in Ohio – and straight into the territory of _man._

What Cally means is – that's a heck of a lot of shit to be able to hold over someone. When there's that sort of gap in power in a relationship, it rarely ever turns out well.

But Kurt doesn't seem oppressed. He's not happy at school, but he doesn't—he doesn't look like he's in an unhealthy relationship – and Cally _knows _what unhealthy relationships look like – but, _still. _Blaine Anderson – what kind of fully-grown man dates a high-schooler?

It's not really her business, though, Cally will concede. She's got other stuff on her plate – namely making sure she graduates despite her failing grade in chemistry – and there's only so much you can do for someone who doesn't want your help.

She learns to ignore the more extravagant of the Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel rumours – seriously? How the fuck would you even know about what Kurt says in bed? Yeah, right, _sure_ – and manages to scrape together enough brains to pass her chemistry final with flying colours.

Then comes prom.

She doesn't really want to go, but Zainab does, so she pulls out her old junior prom dress and does her hair and make-up, and goes without so much as complaining. Okay, she complains a _little, _but she figures it's less of a whingey spiel of how unfair this is and more of a way of formally registering her displeasure. Zainab hooks her up with a date – some other guy from their art class – and Cally resigns herself to the fact that she's going to have to dance at least _once _with this kid.

It's halfway through a slow-dance that lasts far too long that Cally spots Kurt's friends. They're laughing, joking and dancing their way through the evening, but Cally … can't see Kurt. Which is weird, because Cally _knows _he came to the dance – was stuck behind him as they queued for their photos, and had to listen to him bitch at Mercedes about how _trashy _a dinosaur-themed prom was.

(It is kind of trashy, Cally agrees, and seriously weird, but whatever. Cally's not here to have fun anyway.)

Cally escapes the embrace of her date as soon as she can, and pushes her way through the crowd of people, desperate for air. God, she's almost out of this place; she can survive a lousy dance with a cheesy soundtrack and the vinegary stench of slightly tipsy teenagers.

And that's when she finds Kurt.

Back against the lockers, head resting on his boyfriend's shoulder, Kurt looks the most relaxed that Cally has ever seen him. Gone are the layers, gone are the glares – he looks like a teenager.

And they may not be dancing, but everything about their position feels far more intimate than the dance she shared with her overly-enthusiastic date. Kurt says something, the words lost against his boyfriend's shoulder, and it must be witty or something, because the Blaine guy's face cracks into a full smile. He turns his head and—

Cally would _kill _to have someone look at her like that.

He murmurs something back and Kurt just smiles – wicked and mischevious – before prodding Blaine lightly in the ribs.

They do it without realising it. Like it's _normal._

And Cally _knows _what unhealthy relationships look like – she's seen it played out before her in her own life – and she wonders how on earth two idiots with so much against them managed to somehow get it right where her parents failed.

So Cally turns around and walks away.

* * *

[**TBC**]


	2. ii Mercedes Jones

**_ii. Mercedes Jones_**

It goes like this: Kurt is Mercedes' best friend.

It's because of this simple fact that Mercedes has the somewhat dubious honour of being the first to know about Kurt's relationship with Blaine. That in turn makes Mercedes the first to _worry _about Kurt's relationship with Blaine.

And best friends look out for each other, but they're not family – not in the same way that Burt is to Kurt, or Mercedes' mom and dad are to her – and the ties that bind them aren't so permanent as blood. So Mercedes doesn't do anything like forbid Kurt from seeing Blaine, or refuse to cover for him when he and Blaine go on dates, or say the things she wants to say about Blaine.

It goes like this: Kurt is Mercedes' best friend and she will _lose _him if she makes him choose.

Sometimes she thinks that it makes her a bad person, biting her tongue when Kurt shifts nervously on her bed and tells her that he's not a virgin anymore, and sometimes she thinks it makes her an enabler, choosing to lie to Mr Hummel when faced with the possibility that Kurt will _leave _her, but—

But that first night, after his first date with Blaine, Kurt had come back with this small private smile on his face and he'd sat down opposite Mercedes the next morning, wrung his hands tight and told her that he needed an ally.

He didn't say friend.

It was then, Mercedes thinks, that she realised that for the moment at least, Blaine was going to come first. It's not easy coming to terms with the fact that you're a second choice, but Mercedes is Kurt's best friend, and that matters to her. It matters to Kurt too, she knows, just—

Not as much.

Which, yes, it stings, but it's okay. She's Kurt's friend, but he needs an ally, not a friend. Kurt's not just her best friend; he's her _only, _and she used to be that for Kurt too, and she's not ready to let go of that, not yet, not ever. So Mercedes swallows the concerns that threaten to bubble out of her mouth and asks what he needs her to do.

It's not a surrender – like hell is she giving up on this – but it's a tactical retreat. Mercedes will choose her battles and, if and when this thing Kurt has with Blaine implodes, it'll be all that much better for them both for her to have been there throughout it all. And Mercedes _loves _Kurt, and she's not going to leave him alone to deal with the mess of putting himself back together after having torn himself apart.

Kurt knows she doesn't like it, though. God forbid the day that anyone could ever hide anything from Kurt Hummel.

But Mercedes is too selfish to lose her best friend over this.

* * *

So sue Mercedes if she isn't on her best manners when she meets Blaine for the first time. It takes all of her considerable self-restraint not to read the guy the Riot Act. What did he expect, though? In what world was Mercedes ever going to approve of some middle-aged creep – a very good looking middle-aged creep, because, bad judgement aside, Kurt has always had good taste – dating her best friend? This isn't a young adult novel and this isn't a naively upbeat rom-com; the age-gap isn't romantic and it isn't a sign of how strong their love is. It's dangerous.

Blaine, of course, is faultlessly charming.

Mercedes kind of wants to punch him.

(Kurt probably wouldn't speak to her for like a week, but it would be _so _worth it.)

Mercedes isn't blind though. Shamelessly biased against the older man, yes, but blind, no. Although it begrudges her to admit it, even she can see that Kurt and Blaine are good together, and that they are _hopelessly _besotted with each other. That, however, doesn't make this any less dangerous. If anything, it's more so.

She tells this to Kurt, who roll his shoulders uncomfortably, and mutters back that he knows and he doesn't want to talk about this Mercedes, so can you just drive?

She really doesn't like this, but she loves Kurt, so she agrees.

* * *

Blaine is persistent in his attempts to win Mercedes over. Mercedes, on the other hand, is stubborn as hell – something she learned from Kurt – and it doesn't take Blaine long to realise that frosty acquaintances is about as far as their relationship is going to progress. Their interactions never move past cordial – forcibly polite, on Mercedes' case, all grit teeth and passive aggression – greetings and goodbyes.

Each night she covers for Kurt – lies to Mr Hummel down the phone, and all but kills her a bit each time – Kurt sends her updates every two hours until they either both go to bed or Kurt makes his way back to hers. The texts she gets are either deadly sarcastic _(Blaine has yet to sell me into the white slave trade, but don't worry, I'm on my guard just in case) _or really, really short _(still alive) _and each time she gets one, Mercedes rolls her eyes, and sends back the same reply.

_Let me know if you need me to come get you._

She doesn't ever get a reply back to that text.

Mercedes really isn't okay with this, but she's doing her best to make this less dangerous for Kurt, and maybe that's a lot more admirable than blind trust and acceptance.

* * *

Somehow, somewhere along the line, someone takes the vague murmurings of '_Homo Hummel' _having a secret piece of XY chromosome on the side, and spirals it into an entire salacious tale. Far too many of the details hit home for it to just be a random rumour, or a lucky guess, and it's two days before they've figured out Blaine's name. The secret is well and truly out, and Mercedes waits for Kurt to storm in, demanding to know _who she told, _and waits to have to fight for her innocence, but Kurt doesn't storm in, and Kurt doesn't accuse her.

Part of her thinks that this is because he trusts her. The other part says it's because he never trusted her enough to keep it under wraps.

When she sees Kurt next – Glee club, and the things they _say _about him, God, aren't they supposed to be his _friends_? – he just looks tired. His face is hard, though, and she knows that he's not backing down. It's the thing about him; Kurt will always bend and bend and bend and never break.

But he just looks so _tired._

Mercedes doesn't have it in her to interrogate him over their relationship, because it's not about her. It's about him, and it's about Blaine, and for some whacked out reason, half of McKinley seems convinced it's also about them.

And Mercedes is selfish – horribly so, such that she wonders if she truly deserves a friend like Kurt – but she's not so selfish that she's going to sit there and say, "I told you so," when all of this _poison _is being flung at him. He needs someone to sit beside him, to stay out of it all, and act as safe-ground.

So that's what she does.

Because she told him she would be his ally, and Kurt Hummel is her best friend.

* * *

Kurt may have a boyfriend – and good God, McKinley, it's been four days, just shut up already – but he doesn't have a prom date. There are restrictions about this sort of thing and, anyway, Kurt says, he's not about to expose Blaine to the ugliness and all-round hate that make up McKinley High.

So, Kurt may be dating Blaine Anderson, but he's Mercedes' best friend, and her date to junior prom.

Kurt puts aside two consecutive weekends to get them fitted out for it, and they drive down to the Lima Mall, blasting out power ballads on Kurt's car stereo. At first, Mercedes feels a balloon of triumph stretch out inside her, because this is the old Kurt – the one she knows and loves – and pre-Blaine Kurt knows and loves her back. Then, of course, she mentions Blaine and Kurt lets it slip that he's in LA for work for the next couple of weeks and it hits her. Second choice. Again.

It's okay, though. She'll live.

Kurt is in his element, here, though, and it's hard to be mad at someone who seems so obliviously happy as Kurt right now. He darts around the stores, dragging her behind him, and caresses his way through all the prom dresses, muttering about skin-tones and body-shapes.

Halfway through her trying on what must be the _thousandth _prom dress, Kurt's phone buzzes with a text. His entire face lights up when he reads it, and for a second, Mercedes wonders who it is that makes Kurt look so gloriously happy.

Then, she realises she knows exactly who it is.

For some reason, it doesn't seem to bother her as much anymore.

* * *

When exactly Mercedes stops waiting for something to break, she isn't sure. She just knows that Kurt's getting crap at school – which isn't out of the ordinary, but this is _different _– and his father doesn't know yet, and something should be collapsing now.

But it doesn't.

And it's clear. It's been clear all along.

This isn't going to end, or implode and this isn't just a fling. This is the sort of thing that teenagers always delude themselves into thinking they've found in high school, never realising how utterly un-unique they are in their obsession.

Kurt's not deluded, though.

"You really love him, don't you," Mercedes says as they drive back from the mall, like it's a revelation. It kind of is.

Kurt smiles – that old, fond smile, saying, _it took you a while _– and flexes his fingers around the steering wheel. "Yeah," he says.

Huh.

Things do implode, though, just not in the way Mercedes expects. Kurt gets voted prom queen and his face just goes _pale, _but he walks up to the stage, head held fucking high, eyes saying, _go on, laugh, I dare you, _and rams that crown on his head with a sarcastic smile.

"God save the fucking queen," he spits into the mike, and jumps down from the stage – kilt flaring _gloriously_ – before Figgins can ream into him for swearing.

So Mercedes just takes his arm, says, "Let's bounce," and steals Kurt's phone to fire off a text to Blaine.

Later that night, after he's explained it all to his dad, and then talked it through with Blaine, Kurt emerges from his room, fresh from his moisturising routine, and curls up next to Mercedes on the couch.

"My dad's going to make me transfer," he tells her. "There was—the stuff with Karofsky and this—it was the last straw."

"Where?" Mercedes asks.

"Dalton," Kurt answers shortly.

And Mercedes thinks, okay. That's okay, Kurt. It's okay. We're still best friends.

And they are.

"So you and Blaine, huh?" Mercedes eventually says, because, well, Kurt is her best friend, and she loves him, and nothing makes him smile like Blaine Anderson.

Kurt smiles. He's predictable like that. "Me and Blaine."

And that's that.


End file.
